Picked all my weeds and left the flowers
by justanoutlaw
Summary: Tilly ends up drunk on trivia night. Rogers is concerned.


**loboselinaistrash prompted: Prompt - "Are you drunk?"**

**Based on a conversation I had with killianmesmalls about how Killian would deal with Alice drinking and just the kind of parent he was in general. Takes place some point during the curse after Margot and Tilly started dating.**

Sometimes Tilly just wanted to be like everyone else. She wanted to be able to do things that others could do, she wanted to function day to day without her medication and just be normal. She didn't think about how being different made her special, no matter how many times Weaver or Rogers told her that, she'd just ignore it.

So, when Margot invited her to Roni's for trivia night, she welcomed an evening where she could just be like everyone else. Margot had invited some old friends and they all gathered at a table together. One of the waitresses came by to take orders and for a moment, Tilly froze. She knew she wasn't supposed to mix alcohol with her medication, she was told that time and time again. She'd get drunk faster and there was a chance it could mess with the affects.

Still, she was with new people and she didn't want them to think she was weird, so when the waitress got to her she found herself saying "I'll have a beer."

It only took two of them for her to start feeling dizzy. A third and she could barely keep up with the questions being asked by Roni. Margot clearly noticed what was going on and made an excuse to her friends, before leading Tilly out to her car.

"I'm fine," Tilly mumbled.

"Clearly, you're not." Margot helped her put her seatbelt on and gently teased her. "Lightweight."

Tilly blew her tongue out. "Oh hush. Can you drive?"

"I only had one beer. I'm good."

Tilly didn't remember much about the drive home. Her mind was spinning and everything seemed to be upside down. She had the desire to call Margot "Nobin", but that didn't feel quite right.

"Are we going to our cottage?"

Margot giggled a bit. "We don't have a cottage. I'm taking you back to Rogers'."

Rogers. Papa. Papa. Rogers. Were they the same person? Or did she keep imagining that they were? She didn't have a father, she was an orphan.

So, why did Rogers have the same eye color as her papa?

"Here we are, home sweet home," Margot announced as she pulled in front of the apartment building.

"Not home," Tilly whispered. "But it'll do."

Margot helped her out of the car and lead her up the steps to Rogers' apartment. She had tried to find Tilly's keys, but they were tucked away safely so she had to knock on the door. Rogers answered, looking more casual than she had seen him before in sweats and a beat up Washington State Cougars tee.

"Hiya detective," Tilly slurred.

Rogers tilted his head. "Are you drunk?" He looked up at Margot. "Has she been drinking?"

"Just a few beers." Margot helped him with her into the apartment. "She must be a lightweight."

"She's not supposed to drink, it says so on her medication."

"Oh." Margot frowned. "She didn't tell me about that."

Rogers sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "It's fine, it's not your fault. I've got her from here."

Margot nodded and kissed the top of Tilly's head before walking out the door. Rogers looked down at Tilly, who was currently sitting crisscross apple sauce on the couch, looking around the living room. He knew that he wasn't Tilly's father and yet, such a large part of him felt responsible for her. Especially now that she was living in his house.

"It's time for bed, Tilly," he said, firmly.

Tilly looked up at him. "Alright, Papa."

"No time for smart remarks." He pointed to her bedroom. "Go."

Tilly fixed him with a silly look before stumbling off to her bedroom. Rogers followed behind and watched as she tripped her way into her bed, clutching onto the stuffed rabbit she had brought with her from the boxcar. He pulled the covers over her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We'll talk about this in the morning. I highly doubt you'd remember anything right now."

"I remember everything," she mumbled, before falling into a deep sleep.

Tilly woke up the next morning with her head pounding and her mouth feeling dry. She looked over at the nightstand and found two tablets along with a glass of water sitting there. There was a note as well, with Rogers' chicken scratch.

Take these, come into the kitchen.

Obliging the note, Tilly let the pills down her throat and climbed out of bed. She could vaguely remember the night before, something about trivia night with Margot's friends and being brought back home. She had been in her upside down place for a bit, that always seemed to happen when she stopped taking her pills…or mixed alcohol with them.

"Stupid, Tilly," she mumbled. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

She walked out of her room and into the kitchen where Rogers sat at the table. There was some toast and tea, just as there were most mornings. Unlike most mornings, however, he did not look very happy and she could tell it wasn't just his usual early morning grumpiness.

"Have a seat, Tilly," he instructed.

Tilly slowly sat down in the seat across from him. "About last night…"

"Do you know how stupid and reckless that was?" He didn't sound mad or upset…just disappointed and that made it even worse. "You know you're not supposed to drink with your medication."

"I suppose the plus side is I took it," she said with a shrug.

"Is that supposed to make it any better? Tilly, you're lucky you were out with Margot. What if someone had taken advantage of you? What if you had gotten hurt?"

"Well, I didn't!" Tilly held her head, groaning a bit. "You're not my bloody father, Detective," she said, a bit softer. "I don't need you on my damn case all the time."

"I care about you, Tilly." Rogers reached over and touched her hand. She looked up at him and could see the concern in his eyes. "Alcohol is a dangerous game. There's a reason why I don't mess with it anymore."

Tilly frowned. "Does it have to do with your hand?"

Rogers looked at his prosthetic, gnawing on his lip for a moment. "Let's just say, when I was drinking, I wasn't thinking. Hard to do that when you're 8 shots deep in Jack Daniels."

Tilly looked down at her fingers, almost as if she was imagining what it would be like to lose them.

"I know I'm not your father, Tilly, but I care. And I don't want anything to happen to you. If it did…I don't know how I'd live with myself."

Tilly slowly nodded. "For what it's worth…you'd make a good papa."

He softly chuckled, sipping his tea. "Oh, really?"

"Can't imagine they'd get away with shit, but you'd probably spoil them rotten." She took a bite of her toast. "They'd have everything they could ever want."

"Don't know about that."

Tilly thought of the guest bedroom. How it had somehow been filled with clothes her size and books she'd enjoy, along with art supplies and even two new pairs of boots. He had done all that, for a girl that wasn't even his.

"I do."


End file.
